Trying too hard

I know when my poems feel ready or right; I have spent hours struggling over a poem that still doesn't content me. Maybe I've been staring at it too long. I'm also working on a major piece, and there's one bit that may need radical overhaul. But I don't know how to do it; it suffers from being a conversational exchange among several conversations before action kicks in. I have used epistolary devices to break this up, but possibly I've overdone it. I'm not sure, and again, may have been staring at it too long to judge clearly. Last night I was invited out to a posh wee dinner, which I declined because by then I was fagged and irritated with the world...and then remembered that I was meant to be round at someone else's house for the evening, but by then it was too late to go. I'll be seeing the hostess today so at least I can apologise.

So all in all, despite being a gorgeous day yesterday, I singularly failed. Perhaps I shouldn't blame the day.

And I'm not doing it again either. From now on, if the writing isn't working after a couple of hours and the weather is pleasant, I'm not going to sit here like a folded up ironing board. I'll accept momentary defeat and go enjoy the day.